


The Reckless and the Brave

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: You seek out help getting your abusive ex off your back.





	The Reckless and the Brave

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for challenge of Tumblr. My song was The Reckless and The Brave by All Time Low. Side note: Contrary to what the fic implies and even though I’m “old,” I’m a huge All Time Low fan. My oldest daughter has been a fan since she was 12 years old (she’s now 23) and she used to listen to them in the car all the time. She’s seen them eleven or twelve times in concert and met them three or four times. Needless to say, they grew on me over the years.

_Long live the reckless and the brave_  
_I don't think I want to be saved_  
_My song has not been sung  
So long live us_

“They told me you were the man to see,” you murmured.

“For what?” the man asked. He shifted in his seat, turning toward you, arm on the back of the booth, his knee bumping yours, his emerald green eyes staring deep into your soul.

“Murder,” you whispered, looking over your shoulder to see if anyone was behind you. The thumping beat of the music coming from the jukebox made your heart pound and your head hurt. You hated this song, it had been his favorite. You hadn’t seen him, not yet anyway, but you knew that he would show, he always did. You couldn’t get away from him.

The man chuckled and pushed a hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face. He scratched his chin, shaking his head. “Now why would a lovely young woman such as yourself want to murder someone?”

“Look, I - uh...” You dragged in a deep breath. “This was a bad idea, I’ll figure something else out.” You made to slide out of the other side of the booth, but he grabbed your arm.

“Wait a second,” he said, pulling you back into the booth. “Let’s try this again. My name’s Dean. What’s yours?”

“Y/N,” you replied.

“Tell me what’s going on, Y/N,” Dean urged. “Maybe I can help you. Maybe.”

“His name is Dylan,” you sighed. “He’s my ex-boyfriend. Ex-fiance, ex...everything. We were together for almost three years, until I broke it off a year ago.”

“Why’d you break it off?” he asked.

“Dylan wasn’t - isn’t - a nice guy.”

“Not a nice guy?” Dean tipped his head to one side, confused.

You stared at Dean, hoping he would get your meaning without having to say the words. You didn’t want to explain the years of abuse at Dylan’s hands, the bruises and marks you hid, the lies you told your friends and family, the shame you felt because you couldn’t leave him. Until he beat you within an inch of your life, putting you in the hospital for more than a week. Then you’d left.

“He’s not a nice guy, okay?” you muttered.

“Okay,” Dean shrugged. “Go on.”

“He kept trying to get me back,” you explained. “I finally moved, packed up and left my life behind, happy little suburban town I never fit into anyway. It took him more than six months to figure out where I went, and once he did, he followed me. One day I’m walking down the street to work and boom, there he is. Everywhere I go, Dylan is there. Two days ago, he followed me home from work, tried to force his way into my apartment.” You yanked up the sleeve of your jacket and showed Dean the hand shaped bruise on your upper arm.

Dean sat back, arms crossed over his chest. “Call the cops, get a restraining order,” he said.

“I did. Right after he showed up, started following me. Dylan doesn’t care about restraining orders, or cops, or anything for that matter. He’s decided he wants me back and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.” You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, grumbling under your breath at your own stupidity. Dylan had a way of making you feel as if you were out of control, unstable, unable to take care of yourself, unable to make a decision for yourself. You were running through a dark room with your eyes closed. It needed to end. Sooner rather than later.

“You have to help me,” you whispered. “Please. If you don’t, I… he’s going to kill me.”

“How desperate are you to get rid of him?” Dean asked. “What would you give to get your life back?”

“Anything,” you said in a rush. “Anything.”

Dean’s arm slid around your waist, his knee pressed against yours again. His breath blew against your ear, his lips to your ear.

“Would you give up your soul?”

* * *

You pulled your jacket tighter around your torso, shivering, the cold seeping into your bones. You shoved your hands deep in your pocket and glanced over your shoulder at the dark street. You hadn’t seen Dylan when you left the bar. You could feel him, though, you could always feel him, feel his eyes crawling over you, feel his sick desire for you worming into your brain.

That was why you’d agreed to Dean’s ridiculous demand, why you’d given up your soul. Not that you believed you were _really_  giving up your soul, hadn’t believed that you were talking to a demon, even when Dean had done that thing with his eyes; it had to be a trick. It was a ridiculous notion, a game of some kind. You didn’t really care, as long as the agreement saved you from Dylan. Because it was just a matter of time before he killed you.

You made it to your apartment building without seeing Dylan, even though you knew he was out there somewhere. You’d just put your key in the lock when you heard music coming from inside your apartment.

 _Looking out at a town called Suburbia_  
_Everybody's just fighting to fit in_  
_Little rats running mazes, having babies_  
_It's a vicious little world that we live in_  
_Looking back at a life on the other side_  
_I realize that I didn't fit in_  
_Didn't hate it but I didn't quite relate it  
To my precious little world_

_So long live the reckless and the brave_  
_I don't think I want to be saved  
My song has not been sung_

_And long live the fast times, so come what may_  
_I don't think I'll ever be saved_  
_Our song has not been sung  
Long live us_

The apartment door flew open, startling you. You fell forward, landing on your knees, your keys sliding across the floor. A hand closed around your upper arm and dragged you to your feet, whiskey breath invaded your nostrils as a hard kiss was pressed to your lips, smashing them against your teeth, drawing blood. You were dragged across the room and tossed unceremoniously to the couch, hard enough that it slid a few inches to the left.

Dylan stood over you, his hands on his hips, glaring at you. “Where the fuck have you been?” he growled.

“How’d you get in here, Dylan?” you muttered.

“You can’t keep me out,” he yelled. “You love me, Y/N. We are meant to be together. When are you going to stop fighting it and accept it?”

 _Breaking out of a town called Suburbia_  
_I remember everybody always saying_  
_"Little brat, must be crazy, never make it_  
_In our vicious little world"_  
_Still I'm leaving_  
_Got a van, got a chance, got my dignity_  
_Got a dream, got a spark, got somewhere to be_  
_Take a breath, say goodbye_  
_To their precious little world  
(And say goodbye to me)_

_So long live the reckless and the brave_  
_I don't think I want to be saved  
My song has not been sung_

“Never,” you shook your head. “We’re over, Dylan. Over.”

Dylan dropped to the couch beside you and wrapped his hand around your throat. “You fucking bitch, you will stop this bullshit,” his hand tightened, cutting off your air supply, “right now. I’m done playing these games.”

You struggled to get his hand off your throat, desperate to breathe, your feet kicking, eyes bulging, and you knew in your heart that this was it, this was the end. Dylan was going to get what he wanted. You, dead.

 _And long live the fast times, so come what may_  
_I don't think I'll ever be saved_  
_Our song has not been sung_ _  
Long live us_

You could feel it, the life leaving your body, and you wondered why you’d bothered, selling your soul to a demon. It wasn’t going to save you.

The hand on your throat was suddenly gone, air flowing back into your lungs. You opened your eyes to see Dylan, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and some strange knife sticking out of his chest, a knife that looked like sharpened bone with teeth attached to it. Over his shoulder you could see Dean, smirking, his eyes completely black. You shoved yourself off of the couch and ran past them, into your bedroom, slamming the door closed behind you.

_Long live us_

The knock on your door was sharp and quick, more a warning than anything else. Dean came in, uninvited, and stood near the end of the bed, arms crossed.

“It’s over,” he said.

“Where’s Dylan?” you asked.

“Gone,” Dean shrugged. “I took care of it, don’t worry.”

You climbed out of the bed and moved to Dean’s side. “S-so now what?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “Enjoy your life, for the next ten years anyway.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to go?”

Without warning, Dean’s hands dropped to your waist and he was leaning over you. He made you feel small, miniscule, but not in the same way that Dylan had made you feel small. This was different, and not entirely unwelcome. He dragged you closer, his lips a breath away from yours.

“Not unless you want me to stay,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath. His hands were heavy on your waist, his lips soft when they brushed against yours, and Jesus, you could feel the raw power and energy raging through him. You wanted to feel it everywhere.

“I-I...don’t…” you stammered.

“Some other time, sweetheart,” he smirked. He kissed the corner of your mouth before releasing you. He reached into his pocket, pulled out what looked like a business card, and tossed it on the bed. “Call me when you’re ready.”

You didn’t move for a long time, even after your front door closed and you heard the growl of an engine driving away.

 


End file.
